10 HurtComfort Challenge
by geekmama
Summary: Stories written as per the prompts from the 10HurtComfort Challenge on Live Journal Pairing: Jack and Elizabeth
1. Fear

Written for prompt #9 of the 10hurtcomfort challenge table on Live Journal...

* * *

_**Fear**_

The first time it happened he wouldn't tell her what was wrong. They'd been hidden, waiting for the opportune moment to spring a couple of their crew from a Spanish gaol, and had been forced to hole up in a dank cellar. Something about the place -- the light, or perhaps the smell -- threw him off. He was not given to odd humors, he was imaginative, but never let it get in the way of his goals. Even so, something in the whites of his eyes, and in the smile that faltered near the edges, told her things were amiss. And when he dozed finally it was only to wake with a start of terror, which turned to a grim look as he realized what he'd dreamed.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"Nothing."

She frowned and took up his hand. His expression lightened, but he insisted, "It's nothing," and kissed her.

She let it rest, and slept again, though she knew he did not.

The second time was months later, and it came upon him as they lay in the sweet safety of their own bed on the _Black Pearl_. In the dead of night he was visited with the same evil dream. He began to mutter, and thrash beside her in the bed, struggling against some nightmare foe, anger and fear combined in panicked protests.

"Jack! Jack, wake up!" She shook him, her hand light and firm on his shoulder, but he cried out and thrust her roughly away. She was dismayed, but the action seemed to bring him back. His eyes popped open.

"Did I hurt you?" he demanded, breathing hard.

"No." It was the truth, or nearly so.

He didn't reply, and she had the feeling he was uncharacteristically overwhelmed.

"Jack... tell me." She moved across the small space between them, and laid a hand on his shoulder once more. "Tell me."

There was a long pause, then a simple, "No. Not now," and he pulled her close, hands trembling, and began to make desperate love to her. She started to protest, but he cut her off -- "Hush. Let me. _Let me_." And so she did, letting him use her, returning his ungentle touch with that of her own, both of them fighting whatever darkness assailed him. The end was more than he could bear in silence, and his hoarse cry wrung her heart. For once she was left unsatisfied, but it didn't matter. She lay still, holding him as he eased into sleep, tears seeping slowly from the corners of her eyes and into her hair.

It happened again, a few weeks later, but that time she merely watched as he came to himself, then, saying nothing, drew him to her.

She was looking out over the sparkling ocean when he came to her the next morning. He leaned on the rail beside her, covering her hand with his own.

"D'you want me to tell you?"

"Yes."

He grimaced slightly at the blunt reply. "No mercy, eh?"

"None!" she said, confronting him. "Not when you must savage me in the effort to forget."

That could not be turned off with a jest, and he did not. "I'm sorry, love. Maybe--"

"Don't be!" she said, cutting him off. "I am yours! But you are mine, too. And I want to know everything."

"Everything." He shook his head, eyeing her askance. "No you don't."

Her patience was close to failing._ "_Jack,I'm not a child! I don't need a legend to love. I need the man behind it."

His look of consternation would have been amusing in other circumstances.

She took his hands in hers. "Tell me."

After a moment he nodded. "Come back to bed then. It's not a tale for the bright sun and sea. And I promise I won't 'savage' you."

She dropped his hands and took his face between her palms and kissed him. Then she led him aft, back to their cabin.

They lay very close, face to face on the velvet coverlet.

Elizabeth voiced what she feared most. "Is it... the Kraken?"

But he chuckled. "No! You'd think so, wouldn't you? But no. It's only this." He let her go and pushed his sleeve up, baring the puckered pink scar on his left forearm. _P for Pirate_.

"Only that." Taking his wrist, she gently ran her thumb over the letter. "It must have been dreadful."

"It was. Dreadful's the word. I wasn't so... _familiar_ with pain, you might say. Not back then. Beckett had me, and he told me what he was going to do. I'd a couple of days to think on it. It was a long couple of days, and the end of it worse even than I'd imagined. Moses Law, and then the brand. And then they burnt my ship."

Elizabeth swallowed hard. "But... you were alive."

"Aye. And more or less intact. That's what matters, of course, though at the time I wasn't so appreciative as I should've been."

"How did you escape?"

"Didn't. I became ill, and they thought I'd die, so they set me ashore. At a convent."

"A _convent_?"

"It was a poor, run down place, on the coast of Spain. I was a good while healing. The sisters taught me Spanish. And I taught them... other things."

"Nuns? Oh, Jack! You didn't!"

"Of course. Mostly _other things_ other than what you're thinkin' of."

Elizabeth pursed her lips at the glint of humor in the dark, half-lidded eyes. "But... you weren't healed entirely, were you?"

The humor waned. "No. As you see. Some things you just live with, as best you can. Most things are easier. But that... well, it still plagues me, now and again. Damaged goods, darlin'. But you knew that."

Elizabeth kissed him. Slowly, and quite thoroughly. He finally made a little choking groan deep in his throat and gathered her close, and she smiled against his lips, her hands wandering over him, savoring the very real, rather slight, but wiry form that lay beneath the garb of a Pirate.

When he could, he breathed, "You don't mind, then?"

"Of course not. You cannot have thought I would."

"Never know about women. Take some odd notions... _ah!_ Do that once more, will you, love?"

"Only once more? I was thinking perhaps you'd like to savage me again. Just a little."

"Very possibly. Almost... almost certainly, in fact. Insatiable wench." His own hands drifted to pull at the ties on her shirt. "'Twas the part about the nuns, wasn't it?"

o-o-o


	2. Jealousy

**Jealousy**

* * *

_** Friendly Rival **_

"Elizabeth Swann?"

She knew that voice -- or the accent. She turned swiftly to face the man behind her. "Ned!"

Tall and well-knit, fair-haired and handsome as ever, the elegant gentleman grinned, looking her up and down. "I _knew _it was you -- though _how _I can't imagine! What on earth?"

Elizabeth laughed in delight. She'd been helping to supervise the offloading of the _Pearl_'s latest haul, and knew quite well the picture she now presented was vastly different from the one he recalled. "Remember how we used to play at pirates when you would come to visit?"

Her old friend's brow wrinkled, and his smile turned from delight to bemusement. His eyes lifted to the great black ship looming nigh them. "Elizabeth... you're a _pirate?_"

"Privateer, actually," said Jack, coolly, coming up beside her.

Elizabeth said to Jack, "You're the one with the Letter of Marque. I'm merely--"

"A highly esteemed member of the crew, aye. Are you going to introduce me?"

"Of course. Ned, this is Captain Jack Sparrow. Jack, the Honorable Edward Beaufort."

"Not precisely, my dear," said Ned. "I'm afraid father passed two years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry Ned! He was a fine man."

"Among the finest, no denying that."

"So it is the Right Honorable Viscount Breen, then?" Elizabeth said grandly.

"Indeed." Ned held out his hand. "I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Captain Sparrow. I've heard a great deal about your exploits."

"Have you now?" Jack shook Ned's hand, his lips twitching against a smile.

"Yes. But I'd no idea you shipped female crewmembers. Elizabeth, does your father know about this?"

She laughed. "Well, he doesn't know _all _of what I do on the _Pearl_, but he knows I'm with Jack. It's a long story, Ned."

"I imagine it is. I would very much like to hear it. Do you still go into society? I'm having a dinner party tomorrow. I could use a swan and a sparrow to liven up the flock of silly geese that are invited. Business associates and their frumpish wives. Will you have pity and save me from an evening of unrelieved boredom? Although there will be dancing. My aunt insists, and as she is the hostess there's no gainsaying her."

"Your Aunt Eugenia? Is she still with you? And are you not married?"

"No, though Aunt has thrown enough young ladies my way to sink your _Black Pearl_ there. Just not the _right_ young lady. She will be vastly pleased to see you. Say you will come?"

"I'd love to. Only..." She had noticed Jack's frown. "Do you think it would be all right?" Elizabeth asked him. "I thought we were to stay several days."

Jack's expression lightened somewhat. "You'll have to wear a dress, lass. No getting around that."

"I'm still quite capable of dressing properly -- and we've a whole trunk of finery from that French ship we took. There are some beautiful things, and the latest fashions, too. I'm sure I can alter something to fit."

"Took a French ship?" Ned said, quizzically.

"It's what _privateers _do, if you'll recall," said Jack, pointedly.

"Er... so they do." Ned eyed Elizabeth. "Were you among the boarding party?"

"Yes, I was actually. Jack said I acquitted myself admirably."

"She's a devil with a sword." Jack bared his teeth in a wicked smile, and Elizabeth wondered if it sprang from pride in his protégé or amusement at her friend's rather shocked expression.

"I've no doubt of it," said Ned, raising a brow. "It would seem, however, to be a more dangerous game than that we played as children."

"A little, perhaps," said Elizabeth, placatingly. "But Jack is famed for offering quarter if the victim will only see reason. And mostly they do."

"And those that don't?"

"They come 'round to it, in the end," said Jack. "Mostly."

"I see. Well, between the two of you it seems that my dinner party will be considerably enlivened. I shall send a coach for you. At sunset tomorrow?"

"Yes. We'll be ready." Elizabeth clasped Ned's proffered hand -- but he lifted her fingers to his lips briefly, then ran one of his own over a calloused edge and shook his head with a wry smile. She laughed. "Until tomorrow, Ned."

"Every hour will seem a year, dear heart."

Beside her, Jack sniffed.

o-o-o

"Don't you like him?"

Jack scowled, though she couldn't see. He was doing up the laces on a corset, of all the bloody things. But that dress she'd chosen from the swag wouldn't fit, otherwise. Mighty trim in the waist -- and too short, as well. But she'd got out her sewing things and spent half the day letting the hem down, so that was right, at least.

"I don't even know him, love. But if you like him, he can't be too bad."

"He's not bad at all," she asserted. "We had the greatest fun together, he, Will and I. He was very kind to Will, and he might not have been, you know."

"I know. A future viscount and a smith's apprentice? It's a wonder he deigned to notice him." Jack gave the laces a firm jerk.

"Oh! Not so tight!"

"You'll never fit that gown." But he loosened the corset, just a bit. "There, that's got it."

"Thank you."

Between them, they got the gown on and Jack fastened the line of pearl buttons down the back of it. It did fit. Beautifully.

"How do I look?"

She turned to face him, quite serious about the question, smoothing the heavy burgundy satin with reverent hands. Little fool. She had to know she looked a bloody goddess. His smile twisted. "You'll do."

She gave a slow smirk. "You like it."

He took a deep breath. "I like it. Ned'll like it too, I daresay. Come. Let's get your jewels on, and then I'll finish my own toilette. The coach'll be here soon."

o-o-o

Elizabeth enjoyed herself thoroughly that evening. It had been some time since she and Jack had had the opportunity to socialize with anyone who could be considered gentry and, though a great many of Ned's guests were tradesmen, they proved to be far more interesting and down-to-earth than Ned had implied. They were dressed with elegance, but to a man (and woman) they were agog at the fashionable opulence of Elizabeth and Jack's raiment -- as were Ned and his Aunt Eugenia.

"Elizabeth... _and _Captain Sparrow! You look... _beautiful!_" exclaimed Ned in greeting.

Jack bowed thanks, a light in his eye. Elizabeth embraced Ned's aunt. "It is so good to see you again, Lady Beaufort."

The lady returned the embrace, though she frowned and said petulantly, "Ned told me he'd seen you consorting with pirates down at the docks. Is this one of 'em, then?"

"It is. May I present Captain Jack Sparrow to you?"

Jack bowed over the gnarled hand. "The pleasure is mine, m'lady."

"Hmmph," m'lady snorted. "I can see you're a sly, cozening fellow. Come sit by me, then, and regale me with tales of your no doubt wildly exaggerated exploits. Dinner will be half an hour yet."

There was no polite way to deny their hostess -- not that Jack seemed loath to oblige. He escorted her to an elegant settee and soon had not only Aunt Eugenia but also a small crowd of the other guests enthralled, thus giving Ned the opportunity to converse more privately with Elizabeth for a time.

"I meant it, you know," Ned told her. "You look stunning in that dress. You should wear nothing but the finest, most elegant clothing, my dear. That men's gear I saw you in yesterday? Sacrilege!"

Elizabeth laughed. "How very onerous it would be to always dress like this. Do you know, I once fainted, fell from the ramparts at Fort Charles, and nearly drowned because of the tortuous nature of female undergarments? At a most vital moment!"

"Good God! Tell me about it."

She did, as succinctly and briefly as possible, and the story left Ned gaping. When she was through with her narrative, he raised his eyes to where Jack still held his audience enraptured. "I doubt the strangest of the good Captain's tales can hold a candle to _that_."

"Well, it's his tale as well."

"Yes. He saved your life."

"Several times."

"And you chose Will Turner over James Norrington! I suspected you would want to, but I never thought it would come to pass."

Elizabeth smiled sadly. "Will was everything to me. I know James had a great regard for me, but it was always Will."

Ned took her hand, the fine-boned hand of a lady, now strong and roughened with use, and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. "But now it is Captain Sparrow?"

She looked over at Jack, holding court, and the moment of renewed grief faded like a mist in the sun. She turned to Ned. "I always wanted to meet a pirate. Remember the stories?"

"I do," Ned admitted. "But the reality is a little... _off center_, shall we say?"

Elizabeth gave a grin of delight. "Oh, Ned! You have no idea!"

o-o-o

Dinner was served at last, and was well worth waiting for, replete as it was with fine victuals served in an elegant setting amongst amusing company. But in the midst of the third course, a message was brought to Jack.

"Damnation!" he said, under his breath.

"Captain Sparrow!" Aunt Eugenia said, with strong disapproval. "You will make me regret insisting upon your companionship at dinner."

"Pardon me French, ma'am. It seems I'll need to bid you adieu. There's been... an incident. Duty calls, an' all that." Jack glanced at Elizabeth, where she sat beside the Viscount. "Just Blackburn and Phillips again. You can stay... if you like."

"I'll see her back to the ship," said Ned. "Nothing too dreadful, I hope?"

"No. Mrs. Turner can tell you. I'll need to be off." He turned to Lady Beaufort. "It's been a rare pleasure, ma'am," he said, bowing with a smirk and a wink.

"So it has, you rogue," she replied. "Get on with you now. But come to me when next you visit the island. You may be a rogue, but I've not had such entertainment in an age."

o-o-o

_Entertainment. Ha! That's one way to put it._

It was now three in the morning and there was still no sign of Elizabeth. Jack, who was singularly disinclined to seek his bed all by his onesie, stood leaning against the taffrail, eying the quiet dock and mostly empty harbor front with growing disapprobation.

_Where the devil is she?_

_With Ned, obviously. Ned bloody Viscount Breen. _

Jack frowned over his dislike of the annoyingly likable Ned. He seemed a good sort, for one of the gentry. Had a great regard for the young missy, that was certain. An old friend. A _rich _old friend. An _unmarried _rich old friend. Who would presently be needing an heir.

_Damnation_.

Jack was usually unperturbed by potential rivals. He had a great deal of confidence in his irresistibility, and, that failing, in his powers of persuasion. But there was something about this whole Viscount Breen affair -- no, not _affair,_ _business!_ -- that had Jack thoroughly thrown off his stride. He'd had an inkling of it when the fellow'd shown up at the dock, being all Epitome of English Manhood and Childhood Bosom Beau. But the whole dinner party experience -- the well-sprung carriage that'd taken them up into the hills, the fine estate with its well-proportioned and meticulously kept mansion, the warmth and conviviality of their welcome, the way old Ned's eyes had lit at the sight of Lizzie -- _his Lizzie, dammit!_ -- had exacerbated Jack's mental discord to the extent that he'd made immediate plans to depart back to the ship as soon as possible, by hook or crook. Which had, of course, occurred, but without the most important element.

Damn Blackburn and his feud with the knife-happy Phillips. Served him right he was laid out in the surgeon's cabin. As for Phillips, now locked in the brig, Jack'd have the skin off his back soon as they'd put to sea again. Give him a couple of days to think about it first, too.

Lizzie wouldn't like that, of course.

Provided she was there to observe -- or retreat to the cabin, as was her usual way when such things had to be done.

_Bloody hell. Where is she?_

o-o-o

It was nearly four in the morning when Elizabeth finally returned to the _Pearl_. What a time she had had! But howgood it was to be home once more. When she reached the deck, she turned to wave to Ned, who had escorted her right to the foot of the gangplank -- and had demanded a kiss. She'd given him one -- on the cheek. Which he'd accepted with a resigned chuckle.

"You really do love him."

"Yes. How did you guess?"

"You talked of him most of the evening."

"Not only him!"

"Your life with him, then. But I read between the lines. As it were."

She'd given a wry smile. "You were always quick that way."

"Yes. Quick, but never pirate enough for you."

The smile slipped. "Ned. Aunt Eugenia will find you the right lady. Some day."

"Some day." He chucked her under the chin. "Good night, my beautiful pirate."

She'd laughed, and turned away, running lightly up the gangplank.

She walked across the deck, toward the Great Cabin, but something made her look up and she saw Jack, standing by the rail of the quarterdeck. "You're awake!" she called softly, and hurried up the steps. "You've not been abed? Is Blackburn all right?"

"Knifed in the shoulder. Missed the lung, but Phillips'll have to pay. Not that Blackburn was innocent."

"How dreadful. But why are you up? Were you waiting for me?"

"Maybe."

Elizabeth frowned at Jack's solemn look. "You were! Were you worried about me? There was no need!"

"You were gone a long while."

"There was dancing -- and a supper at midnight. Just like a ball in London! I wish you had been able to stay."

"Oh, I daresay you had a fine time with Ned."

"Well, yes, to be sure..." Elizabeth stared, suddenly realizing what was amiss. "Jack! You're jealous!"

"Am not."

"You are!"

"Not."

"Are!"

"You kissed him."

She almost choked. "On the _cheek! _Jack, he's an old friend. I knew him as a child! _Will _knew him. But... oh, you cannot think--"

"He's a well set up fellow," Jack said, trying not to pout and failing.

And Elizabeth had to laugh, and kiss him. He held himself stiffly for a moment, then gave in and pulled her close, kissing her back with increasing fervor. She hugged him, running her hands over his back, and into his hair, but finally drew her lips from his and said, "He _is _well set up, but he is not the man who's stolen my heart, and never will be."

Jack looked at her in the pale gray light of dawn. "He's a handsome phiz, and he's young. And he's rich."

Elizabeth just shook her head, trying not to smile at his absurdity.

Jack's lip quivered, resisting, too. "Hmm. Well. Stolen your heart, eh?"

_Not a doubt of it!_ She grinned. "_Pirate!_" she said, and kissed him again.

_So good to be home._

o-o-o


	3. Sick

Sick

* * *

_** Dancing Day**_

_Tomorrow shall be my dancing day  
I would my true love did so chance  
To see the legend of my birth  
To call my true love to my dance  
Sing Oh my love, my love, my love, my love  
This have I done for my true love._

James and Elizabeth's father had gone to England on government business and would not return until the spring was well advanced. The big mansion in the hills above Port Royal would be deserted and silent but for a few of the servants. There was no reason for the _Black Pearl_ to return to Jamaica that year, and it did not. They dropped anchor in Tortuga Bay the day before Christmas to allow the crew a few days leave—not the holiday venue Elizabeth would have chosen.

"You're sure you don't want to leave the ship, love?" Jack asked, frowning, sitting down beside her.

"For Heaven's sake, no!" his love replied, wearily. She had taken a chill during a spell of bad weather two weeks before and succumbed to her first head cold in years. Jack had been adamant that she stay abed for several days. It hadn't taken much coercion. Her fever had now subsided, but she still felt weak and stuffy, and out of sorts, too. As much as she loved Jack and her new life in his company, she still missed her Will and never more so than at Christmas. "You'll do far better without me," she told Jack. "Go ashore with the others. I'll be fine here."

Jack looked skeptical, but finally acquiesced. "I'll just go raise a glass or two with the lads, then. Be back this evening, eh?"

She nodded and gave a wan smile, and closed her eyes as he kissed her on the forehead.

o-o-o

Elizabeth napped all afternoon, alone (and lonely) in the Great Cabin, but woke at dusk and determined she would rise and make herself presentable, in case Jack should actually return. This was not a certainty, by any means, but she knew that she'd also feel better – or less listless, at least – for a bathe and some fresh clothing. She got up and called for Jem, the cabin boy, who obligingly fetched hot water from the galley for her. Her subsequent ablutions, along with the effort of dressing, left her exhausted and, when Jack failed to appear, a fog of melancholy descended upon her. She tried to throw it off, but the phrase _out of sight, out of mind_ echoed in her aching head. Telling herself it was merely weariness, she lay down to rest again, but there were tears on her cheeks before she fell asleep once more.

o-o-o

She woke to the sound of singing.

It was black in the cabin – the sun had gone down entirely and she'd failed to light the lamp. So when the door was thrown open she was momentarily startled and dazzled by the lantern Jack was carrying, and by his companions: two young, fresh-faced boys with bright red hair and freckles.

"Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la la la la la!" they sang, accompanied by Jack's sea-roughened baritone.

Elizabeth struggled to sit up, amazed, a smile dawning on her lips at this incongruous sight. The three finished out the verse with a flourish, and she managed to gather enough wit to applaud, genuinely delighted.

"Make your bow, lads," Jack commanded, and the boys obeyed, grinning.

"But who are they?" Elizabeth demanded.

"Rob and Timmy Whitby, sons of Martha – Mistress Whitby -- who keeps Whitby House, finest hostelry on Tortuga. Lads, meet Pirate Queen Lizzie – Mrs. Turner to you."

The two began to jabber.

"Are you really a pirate queen?"

"We'd heard you were a lady! The governor's daughter!"

"She's both. Captain Sparrow said so," said the larger lad to the smaller.

Elizabeth laughed. "A pirate queen?" she twitted Jack, as he approached.

"Of course!" He kissed her. "What else should you be?"

"That would make you the pirate king?"

"Precisely." Jack sat down next to her on the bed and took her hand. "It's good you've seen fit to dress. We're bidden by Mistress Whitby to come stay for Christmas. D'you think you're able?"

"To stay? At her house?"

"It's an inn, but aye – she's an old friend and we're invited to join in the family celebration. Thought you might like it – she's these two varmints and a couple of girls as well."

"Is _Mister_ Whitby agreeable?"

"Da passed five year ago," said the younger lad, cheerily. "He was on the _Bride of Calais_ when she went down with all hands."

"How dreadful!" exclaimed Elizabeth, shocked.

"Aye." The elder of the boys doffed his hat.

"No, it ain't!" piped up the little one, eyeing his brother in a surprised way. " 'e were a right bastard, weren't 'e Rob?"

"Shut it!" Rob gave his outspoken brother a swipe with the hat he'd doffed.

"Hey!" Tim put up his chin and his fists straightaway, and the situation would have deteriorated rapidly if Jack hadn't given a sharp call to order.

"_What_ did I tell you two?"

"Sorry, Captain."

"Aye. Sorry."

"Hmmph," said Jack, as though in disgust, but his eyes twinkled. "Well, what do you think, lass? Shall we accept the Whitby hospitality for a night or two? Or have these rufflers put you off?"

"Oh, no!" Little Tim looked dismayed. "You have to come, ma'am. My sisters had to stay and help mum with the baking, but they dearly want to meet you. We've none of us met a queen before."

Elizabeth chuckled, but said, "I am no such thing, however. I could not visit under false pretenses."

"You're not?" Tim frowned.

But Rob said, "That's all right. You look like one, an' that's the most important part."

"Aye!" agreed Tim, brightening. "It is!"

And so it was decided.

o-o-o

If Mr. Whitby had been a less than exemplary husband and father in some ways, he could not be faulted for the estate he had left to his wife and offspring. Whitby House was a beautiful, well-kept inn on the outskirts of town, away from the raucous dockside area. Moreover, it was soon evident that Mrs. Whitby knew just how to celebrate the season.

Elizabeth had not had such a Christmas since she was a little girl in England, where there'd been innumerable cousins and aunts and uncles, a feast (complete with boar's head) in the drafty hall of her uncle's house, carol after carol sung with verve and faith and shining eyes, little ones watching the grown-ups dancing, peeking between the banisters until their nurses came and they were shooed to bed to await Father Christmas, strains of music rising and following to sing them to sleep; and the morning, dawning pale and sweet with gifts for everyone and a grand breakfast.

To be sure, Mistress Whitby took one look at Elizabeth's face and had her enthroned on the sofa by the big fireplace in a trice. "You'll rest tonight, m'girl, an you think of dancing tomorrow."

"I will, then," Elizabeth readily agreed.

The Whitby daughters began to sing, "Tomorrow shall be my dancing day…" and Elizabeth laughed and listened, but refrained from joining in as her usually pretty voice had been badly affected by her cold.

_Sing Oh my love, my love, my love, my love  
This have I done for my true love._

Later, after a feast that wonderfully demonstrated Mistress Whitby's culinary skill, there was music and dancing. It was of a more homely sort than Elizabeth remembered from the celebrations of her childhood, but pretty to hear and watch nonetheless. The younger children sat with her, bouncing and humming along. Jack did his duty by the other ladies present with a light foot and a humorous air, but it was plain enough to all that it was really Elizabeth with whom he really wished to dance. He kept catching her eye hopefully, but though she applauded his and the others' efforts she was constrained to rest by her vigilant hostess, and was glad of it by the time they were off to bed.

They followed Mistress Whitby's eldest daughter, Sally, up the stairs to the room they'd been allotted. Elizabeth loved it at once. It was sparkling clean and equipped with some surprisingly luxurious furniture, although a homey air had been achieved. There were lace curtains over a wide shuttered window; smooth, white sheets and a bright quilt on the big bed; and a neat, tiled hearth in which a cheerful fire burned.

"Just ring if you've need of anything," Sally advised them, after she'd lit the bedside lamp.

"You're a princess among housemaids, Miss Sally," Jack said, and kissed her hand.

"Oh!" the girl exclaimed, blushing rosily. "You… I… Anything at all! Really!" And she hastily slipped out and closed the door.

Elizabeth shook her head. "You are an incorrigible flirt, Jack Sparrow! She can't be more than fifteen!"

"The darlin' would've been disappointed if I hadn't," he pointed out, with simple confidence in his irresistibility.

Elizabeth had to admit that confidence was justified. Her heart beat a little faster as he came to her and took her hands. That _look_ in his beautiful eyes…

"Feeling better, love?"

"_Much_." She sighed with contentment as he drew her close. "Thank you for bringing the boys, and arranging this, and… oh, for everything!"

"Thought you'd prefer this to lying abed on the _Pearl_. Though that's a fine thing, in the ordinary way…"

"No, you were right. I needed a change." Elizabeth smiled in remembrance. "I had such a good time watching you and the others dance."

"Not jealous?" Jack queried, raising a brow and pouting just a little.

She laughed. "Not tonight. But tomorrow I'll be well again – you'll see! And that shall be _my_ dancing day."

o-o-o


	4. Drunk

_**Drunk**_

* * *

** Bacchante**

Elizabeth wasn't much for drink. She was good at pretending she was, as when they were marooned together on that Godforsaken Spit of Land, though where she'd come by such skills was quite beyond his ken.

Devious wench.

It was, of course, just possible on that occasion that her virginal youth and beauty had been enough to cloud his vision, cause him to forget she'd had it in for him from their first meeting on the dock at Port Royal: startled appreciation of his efforts transmuted to taut fury at the touch of the shackles' chain. Fortunate for her they differed in that. They were alike, after all, in so many other ways. Cunning of an unknown but potentially sinister quantity. Bloody-minded determination.

This was an altogether different island, considerably less Godforsaken (not least because his _Pearl_ lay sweetly anchored offshore), but when Pintel commenced to serving up his odd concoction of fruit juices and rum, Jack was surprised to note Elizabeth's enthusiastic enjoyment as she partook of it, and was wary of the outcome.

"This is delicious!" she exclaimed, tilting her head back and drinking deep of the cool libation – the small barrel had been chilled in a shaded stream all afternoon.

Jack stared at her white throat working, the smile that came to her lips after, and the angle of her head as she gazed up at him with those eyes.

"Aren't you going to try it?" she asked.

He felt his lip twitch. Among other things. "No thanks, love. I like me rum and me women neat."

She frowned. "Neat? And how is a woman neat?"

"It's open to interpretation."

She rolled her eyes at him impatiently, turned away and took another long drink.

The moon rose slowly over the beach. "Lizzie, darlin', I'd be careful of that."

"And who are you to talk, Captain Sparrow?" The words were only slightly slurred at this point.

"The voice of vast experience, love."

She shrugged a shoulder.

He sighed. Bloody-minded determination. (And cunning drowned like a kitten).

He watched Pintel refill her mug twice more amid the song and laughter and, finally, dancing.

She stumbled.

He caught her. "Whoa, there. Careful!"

She stopped, clutching him for balance. "I… thank you." The words enunciated with great care.

He grinned, watching her struggle for clarity, her brows frowning. She took a deep breath and put her shoulders back. "All right?" he asked her.

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Then said, reluctantly, "No."

"Gents, Miss Swann bids you good night," he told the company.

There were expressions of regret and sympathy, which Elizabeth acknowledged with a grave nod.

She fell asleep as he rowed her out to the _Pearl_, and it was something of a trick waking her again to coax and scold her up the side. The exertion was too much, evidently. Landing on the deck, she was up in a trice and made excellent time to the opposite rail, out of sight of all but himself. He followed, catching her hair out of the line of fire, and wondered that one in such reduced circumstances could yet be so comely.

She finally straightened, and faced him with tears in her eyes.

"Poor Lizzie," he said, more softly than he'd intended.

He tucked her up in his own bed, her expression of contentment belied by the hand that gripped his to stop the cabin spinning. The moonlight filtered in through the glass. Silver and gold.

"Not very neat," she murmured.

He kissed the hand before she slept.

In the morning she was late rising, and they were well underway, his ship's dark sails belled with the freshening breeze. She came to him on the quarterdeck, pale and slightly sheepish.

"Good morning, Miss Swann," he said, not laughing. "Lovely day."

She returned the look, lips solemn, eyes bright. "It is, Captain Sparrow." She came to stand beside him, and put her hand on the _Pearl_'s wheel. "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked, having some idea of pretending nothing had happened.

"For not saying _I told you so_."

He smiled (just a little) and nodded. "My pleasure, darlin'."

o-o-o


	5. Lonely

_**Warning: This chapter may be rated 'M' rather than 'T' as the others are, and is dedicated to Hereswith, dear friend and best beta reader ever!**_

_**This is also chapter 6 of 'Service to the King' and is crossposted there.  
**_

* * *

_** Heartsore **_**  
**  
She went back to bed after Jack left. There was nothing to be done, after all. Though her mind followed him as he made his way through the winding passages of the Cove and out to the docks, starlit and silent, she felt quite blessedly numb, tucked into the comfortable cot, bathed in the dim blue green light, her James sleeping in his cradle close at hand. No lingering warmth, no faint touch of lips. She did not feel. She would not.

o-o-o

Her days were filled, with duties, with study, with James -- well, _Flip_, to everyone, including herself much of the time -- with her new life, her people, so many friends, and more than friends. Will was gone, but he could return, and would too, she had no doubt. Jack was gone, but she had never expected him to stay.

Her days were filled. Not so, her nights.

The first week was the most difficult. A nonsensical feeling of abandonment came over her when she laid herself down to rest each night. Try as she would, she could not regain the insensibility that had seen her to dreamless sleep the night Jack left. How had she ever come to this pass? Surely only a fool would place her heart in the keeping of a man for whom the term "wayward" had to have been coined. She could not blame him, no. Yet his absence was a dull and constant ache.

But her days were filled, and if at night slow tears seeped from the corners of her eyes and trickled down through her hair, and if her hand brushed the bedclothes beside her, of its own volition, in a quest for something lost, why those were matters kept secret by the darkness, and no one else need ever know.

o-o-o

She woke in the black of pre-dawn to a fussing baby and aching breasts, a fortnight after he'd gone. She groaned, sleepily, and for a moment regretted Jack's absence for the simple fact that, had he been there, he would have fetched James for her.

The thought that this might be what she missed most about Jack, that she could be as selfish as that, made her laugh -- and gave her pause.

She lit the small lamp and went to fetch her son. "Oh, darling! Come here then," she said, and lifted his sweet weight to her shoulder, and took him back to bed.

Was it true? It could not be! But as she settled and nursed the baby, she examined her attachment to Jack Sparrow.

She'd been reading of his exploits for years before they met, and though they were a mixture of fact and fancy, the gist of the stories pointed true: he was a trickster, a scoundrel, a pirate -- _and _a good man. It had been proven time and again during their adventures. The best of all pirates, this Pirate Lord of the Caribbean.

And he loved her. He'd proven it in a thousand ways, great and small, from the moment they'd met, and never more so than in these last four months. Consideration, laughter, courage, and just the right degree of sympathy or encouragement -- or outright prodding. How would she have managed without him?

Oh, yes. She loved him. There it was. She loved Will, but she loved Jack, too. He completed her, Yang to her Yin, as Tai Huang would say, and Will a line of contact between them both, for better or worse.

She sighed aloud, the ache in her heart less, somehow. She would not stop missing Jack, and he would not stop loving her. That had to be enough, for now.

o-o-o

Another two months went by before she dreamed of him.

Her joy at seeing Will so suddenly had translated to a desire to enfold him, to be enfolded by the man who had loved her for so many years, no matter that he was something other now, with uncanny power and knowledge of things so arcane she would never know the half of it. She had desired him, new wife reaching to new husband, but with her mind more than her body.

"That so another one don' come too soon," Susannah had said sagely, when Elizabeth had put the awkward question to her. "Better for the mother that way. No worries. Your fire just banked, is all. It be early days yet."

Apparently six months was time enough.

Flip had recently begun to sleep through the night, and Elizabeth was deep in slumber when the dream came, taking all her senses. Sweat and patchouli; Jack's voice rough in her ear, telling her what he would do, what he would make her feel; gentle hands ghosting over her skin, his kisses brushing her lips, his eyelashes brushing her cheek. The lips moved lower, tickling her jawline, sweetly lingering at her collarbone, before his hand cupped one breast and his mouth descended, teasing until she writhed, breathless. Whispered endearments, his weight half pinning her, his hand caressing, moving over her waist, around her hip. She turned her face against his shoulder, and opened her legs, and could not keep silent as he touched her there, _there_ where she needed it. She could feel him, too, moving hard and hot against her hip, though somehow she couldn't take him, use her own hands to make him gasp and cry out as she would have liked. "S'all right, Bess, let me... just let me..."

Somewhere in the depths was the knowledge that this was a dream, and she wondered at it, wondered if she would wake. But then his lips were on hers again, nipping, tasting, and she felt his smile as he pressed one long, too-clever finger deep inside her and used the rest to draw her over the edge of reason.

The baby woke, setting up a howl at his mother's apparent distress.

o-o-o

She comforted and nursed Flip -- her _James_, poor little man with such a mother -- and he finally slept again, as the sky was turning gray. Elizabeth put on a heavy silk robe, and went out to the railed overlook that provided the Pirate King with a view of her city. The air was cool and soft, and the stars were fading fast. Her people were beginning to stir, the smells of wood smoke and coffee drifting pleasantly on a slight breeze.

She heard a footstep behind her. It was Teague, just come in, fully dressed, and he smiled. Elizabeth said, "Have you even been to bed?"

He lifted his brows and smirked, shrugging. "In a manner of speaking."

She could not help smiling back, just a little. "Ah. I see." She turned back to the view, and he stepped up beside her.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked her, too casually.

"More or less."

They were silent for a moment, and then he put his hand lightly on her shoulder. "He'll come back."

Elizabeth turned, by reflex prepared to demand what he was talking about, but the assured voice was belied by the hope in Teague's eyes. She could not dash it, not his, not hers. So she said only, "Yes, he will," and reached up to cover his hand with her own.

o-o-o-o-o


End file.
